


Black Is The Color (Of My True Love's Hair)

by iknowhowyoukiss



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, smut glitter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-25
Updated: 2016-06-25
Packaged: 2018-07-18 04:24:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7299475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iknowhowyoukiss/pseuds/iknowhowyoukiss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As much as he likes taking care of her, she likes taking care of him too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Black Is The Color (Of My True Love's Hair)

**Author's Note:**

> I'm obsessed with Colin's haircut, and what will be Killian's hair once they start S6 filming in a few weeks, so here, enjoy a little CS domesticity with a side of smut glitter Xx

_Black is the color of my true love's hair_  
_His face so soft and wondrous fair_  
_The purest eyes_  
_And the strongest hands_  
_I love the ground on where he stands_

It’s early when Emma rises, just after dawn. Sunlight peeks in through the thin curtains pulled over the windows and casts warm shadows across their room. Everything feels soft, lovely, and a deep sense of contentment settles in her bones at the stillness and quiet accompanying a new day. She stretches languidly, body twinging in some rather peculiar -- albeit interesting -- places in the process.

Hardly surprising, though. Considering the rigorous activities she and Killian had engaged in that evening before bed, it would be difficult not to be feeling even a little worn, but as the memories linger just on the edge of her thoughts -- vivid and steamy and delightful -- a smile tugs up the corners of her mouth. Her muscles might be achy and sore, but _god_ was it absolutely worth it.

She accidentally jostles Killian, foot nudging his calf and her elbow following suit, bumping into his shoulder mid-shift on the bed. The gasp that leaves her lips is low but sharp, an abrupt burst of anxiety that makes her whole body freeze, worried that she might have accidentally woken him up. He grunts in protest, a grumbling sound in the back of his throat, yet remains fast asleep. Her next exhale is full of quiet relief.

The last time she’s shared a bed with someone on a day-to-day basis was over a decade ago, and even though she’s very familiar with having Killian beside her now, in some ways, she’s still remembering how to coexist with another person in intimate quarters -- learning how to do it with _him_ , specifically. It’s definitely gotten easier, but only because practice makes perfect, and she’s been making good on her word -- her promise to ‘sleep for weeks’ after their return from literal hell -- with him in tow.

He doesn’t sleep nearly as much as she does, however; apparently happy just to lay beside her and play with a lock of her hair or trace patterns into her skin with his fingers while she drifts off. It’s rare that she wakes before him, and while she quite enjoys reveling in this particular pastime, she enjoys it even better knowing he’s getting the rest he not just deserves, but needs too.

Emma cants her head then, satisfied to note that his breathing has evened out again, and takes the opportunity to sweep her gaze across his face as she cuddles into his side, careful not to disturb him too much. Since they’d gotten back from the Underworld, she’s spent a lot of time looking at him, drinking in all of the little things that make up his features.

The cut of his jaw and how it’s always shadowed with scruff more ginger than dark brown. His bottom-heavy lips and near-perfect teeth. The dimples that wink every time he smiles. The angles of his cheeks and the scar on the right one she still has to ask him about. The blue of his eyes and the thick, curling lashes that fill her with envy. The crinkles he gets anytime his mouth curves up. The dark, restless eyebrows, one of which sits naturally just a tiny bit higher than the other.

She files it all away, all of those minuscule details most people probably don’t notice, keeping them in the safest part of her memory. The deepest part of her heart.

Her eyes move a little higher, and she finds the corners of her mouth tugging up into an amused and affectionate smile. There’s something positively endearing and boyish about the way his hair falls over his forehead. How it curls over his brows and tickles the bridge of his nose and cheek, just where his eyelashes rest when his eyes are closed. It’s been a long time between when she’d taken on the Dark Curse and Zeus had so graciously restored his life, and while the scars of that have begun to heal already, it still has yet to erase the evidence of what the time gone by has done to his hair.

It’s a silly thing to zone in on, probably, but now that she’s noticed, it’s hard to ignore: Captain Hook is in dire need of a haircut.

She muses on that for a moment, her fingers stroking idly across his chest, trailing over the line of his necklace while she thinks about how the ocean breeze of their seaside little town constantly tangles in his hair, blowing it wildly out of place or into his face as of late.

Absentmindedly, she moves her fingertips higher, forging a path up then lightly across his collarbone. He stirs beneath her and it makes her smile again, an idea beginning to take shape in her mind.

He’s spent a lot of time taking care of her recently, and she’s indulged him in equal measure, appreciating all of the little things he does -- blankets tugged around her body and her favorite food for breakfast, his hand warm against her neck while he massages the muscles there as he kisses her. Humming her to sleep or reading a book together, holding her hand anytime she gets into one of her moods and feels overwhelmed by past memories that randomly resurface. He takes Henry to school and cleans the house and does the laundry (even when she tells him he doesn’t have to or that she can help), and even accompanies her dad around town every so often when he’s got some Sheriff duties to attend to while she continues her leave of absence.

In short, Killian has been nothing but wonderful, and she knows that everything he does is as much for himself as it is for her, that he finds his own healing through hers and in the way that she allows him to fuss when he wishes. But as much as he likes taking care of her, she likes taking care of him too, and it’s with that thought that she makes up her mind about how to spend their morning.

She wakes him with a feather-light kiss meant to coax him from his dreams slowly, rather than ignite the desire constantly simmering below the surface as it has been since they had gotten back. She should have known better, though, because they can barely touch without it leading into something _more_ , let alone kiss. As he drifts further into consciousness, he reflexively moves, rolling her beneath him and pressing her into the mattress with his weight. Their hips collide together, and she has to bite back a groan at the feel him, growing hot and hard and heavy between them with each press and retreat of their mouths.

She giggles when his hand wanders, she can’t help it, arching into his touch as his questing fingers glide up the curve of her hip and higher still so his thumb can brush just beneath the swell of her breast. He breaks the kiss and she gasps, fingernails scoring little crescent moons into his shoulder as he works his mouth along her jaw, down her neck, and flicks his tongue against her collarbone.

“ _Killian_ -” she starts, a plea or a warning, she hasn’t decided yet.

But he interrupts her. “You’re supposed to be asleep still,” he chastises, though there is no heat in his voice, just his mouth as he moves lower, brushing a tender kiss to the spot above her heart before lips and tongue and teeth trail back up to that place below her ear that makes her eyes flutter close.

“ _Oh-_ ” she whines, unable to form coherent words -- or any words for that matter -- when his teeth scrape across her pulse point.

“So demanding, Swan,” he teases, alternating between licking and sucking words into her skin. “Bloody insatiable.”

It’s distracting -- his mouth, his words -- and she’s fairly certain she’s one more kiss away from her brain short-circuiting. _Jesus._ She needs to get him out of bed. Now.

“I wasn’t trying to- I just- not for _this_ ,” she attempts to explain.

“Are you sure?” He sounds unconvinced, nipping at her ear and tugging on the lobe with his teeth, sending her system into overdrive.

“No- I mean, _yes-_ I mean- _fuck!_ ”

“Well, if the lady insists-”

“That’s not what I meant-”

“Then what _did_ you mean, love?” Another nip. Another tug. Another swipe of his tongue to soothe over the spot.

“Hang on, I can’t think straight when you do that.”

He chuckles, the sound dripping with smugness, and his unspoken reply hanging in the air -- _I know_.

“ _Killian_ , we have plans this morning.”

She can feel his smile against her skin as he peppers lingering kisses against her cheek, inching closer and closer to her mouth.

“Indeed we do.”

“No,” she laughs breathlessly, swatting at his back even as her other hand moves to twist her fingers between the thick strands of hair curling at the nape of his neck to hold him to her. “Other plans. _Real_ plans and we’re going to be late if you don’t-”

The rest of the sentence is promptly cut off, swallowed by his incredibly persuasive mouth, and Emma sighs beneath him, body going lax with hardly any resistance at all. Her legs slide up to anchor around his hips and she supposes that if she can’t beat him, she may as well join him.

\-----

They are very, _very_ late by the time they finally make it out of their room, much to Killian’s delight and Emma’s exasperation. She rushes down the staircase ahead of him, intent on retrieving shoes and coats and the keys off the trio of hooks hanging by the door. Her pony tail whips behind her, cheeks flushed and body still warm from his attentions, her shirt slightly askew from when she’d put it on after their joint shower and he’d attempted to simply pull it back off with his fluffy blue towel hanging enticingly low on his hips.

In contrast, Killian follows leisurely behind her, a cheerful tune whistled between his lips and an ease to his gait as he makes his descent. There’s an extra little pep in his step, and despite the satisfied and sated look on his face, he still keeps close to Emma, touching her every time she passes -- a hand on her back, a caress down her arm, his fingers tugging playfully on the ends of her hair -- and grinning wide and mischievous every time she returns his look with a warning one of her own.

Eventually he corners her by the coat rack though, treating her with another breath-stealing kiss before she manages to escape through the threshold of the entryway and down the porch steps. There is no time for coffee or breakfast, but Killian doesn’t seem to mind, locking up behind him and turning his lazy smile on her while she waits for him at the bottom of the stairs.

He steps forward and she retreats, his brow quirking up when she does it again and again the closer he tries to get. He chuckles softly when it finally clicks -- how she’s luring him away from the house and far away from the temptation of their bed (not to mention every flat surface available to them). She thinks she’s safe once they’ve made it beyond the gate, that he’ll keep his overeager hand and hook to himself, but he snakes his arm around her waist anyway, swinging her into him and crushing his lips against hers before they even make it to the first crosswalk on their way into town.

_Jesus Christ_. It’s like colliding into a wall, her momentum simply absorbed by him and forcing her onto her toes to meet the assault of his mouth. Even after the morning they’ve just had, the kiss is still hungry, still needy. It knocks her off balance -- the all-consuming way he wants her, the overwhelming way he loves her.

Her laughter rings out when he lets her ease away, but she doesn’t move too far from him, lingering in his space and nudging her nose against his, touching their foreheads together and just breathing in the quiet little moment they’ve made together. He tilts his chin up to brush a kiss to the tip of her nose and over her brow while he continues to hold her close.

There’s a part of her that thinks that maybe he’s addictive, maybe she should just say, ‘ _screw it_ ,’ and poof them back inside to the comfort and privacy of their room. That they can afford another day of indulgence. But then her hands find their way into his hair again and she is reminded once more that she’s got some plans for him before they can get anywhere near a bed again. Surely they can keep their hands off of each other for a few hours.

She steps back then, smoothing her hand across his shoulder and down his arm so she can link their fingers together. “Come on,” she tells him. “We’re going to be late.”

He lets her lead as he always does, falling into step beside her as she tugs him across the street.

“We’re already late,” he points out.

“And whose fault is that?”

“Oh, believe me...I take full responsibility, Swan.” His mouth curves up when he catches her rolling her eyes. “You have to admit it was worth it though.”

His eyebrows wiggle and she huffs out a breath. He is shameless, completely. “No comment,” she mutters, pulling another smile from him.

“So tell me, love, where exactly are we off to?”

She merely shoots him a smile and shrugs her shoulders in reply. “You’ll see.”

\-----

He doesn’t protest as badly as she thought he might, actually quite content to sit in the chair with a styling cape draped over him while a stranger snips at his hair with scissors. She is on close watch, surveying the barber’s handiwork and humming in approval every so often from her place by his elbow. Killian, meanwhile, remains quiet and observant. Though mostly on her. His eyes are piercing and steady, watching her stand there with her arms crossed and her brow furrowed in thought. Their gazes meet only a couple of times through the mirror, Emma averting hers whenever a smile starts to tug up the corners of his mouth.

“You’ve roses in your cheeks, Swan,” he comments lightly, giving her a lazy smile. “What are you thinking about?”

She says nothing, but gives him one of _those_ looks, the kind where she doesn’t shake her head at him but the gesture is implied, and her eyes are narrowed just a bit with her mouth curved up in a secret smile. He knows _exactly_ what she’s thinking of, the memories from just a few hours ago still fresh in their minds -- her fingers carding gently through his hair while she holds him to her breast and he drags his tongue over the sensitive flesh, how she tugs a little harder, a little rougher when he sets his mouth between her legs, and then, the restless twisting and pulling on the strands as they kiss and he slowly thrusts into her.

She hides the shiver down her spine with the shifting of her weight from one foot to the other, ignoring Killian’s low chuckle to politely step out of the barber’s way when he excuses himself for a moment.

“Perhaps,” Killian says, voice hushed and gruff and drawing her attention back to him. “You’re thinking about how you’ll have nothing to... _hold onto_ anymore.” His brow arches in that ridiculous way of his when he’s feeling particularly playful or pleased with himself.

Emma is unfazed by his antics, likes to think she’s built an immunity to them after all these years, and refuses to give him the satisfaction of a reply. “You don’t seem surprised,” she asks instead.

“By what, love?”

“This place.”

The smile that unfurls is entirely amused. “I’ve had my hair cut before, Swan. I’m not a barbarian.”

“By the way you threw me over your shoulder and lugged me to the shower this morning, you could have fooled me.”

“Nothing you didn’t enjoy, darling,” he winks.

Her mouth twitches with another smile that she hides with the press of her lips together. He’s got her there, damn it. She has no time for the retort on her tongue, though, the barber returning and taking up his post behind Killian to resume his work.

\-----

It’s busy on Main Street when they vacate the shop, the sidewalks crowded with people already in the middle of their morning -- running errands, heading to Granny’s for brunch, simply enjoying the weather. Their hands automatically reach for each other, fingertips twining together as they begin to wander aimlessly past a few storefronts.

She can’t stop staring at him, sneaking glances from the corners of her eyes and lingering over his freshly shorn hair.

“What do you think, love?” he asks, strolling at a relaxed pace and swinging their clasped hands gently. “Does the lady approve?”

If the smirk on his face is anything to go by, he already knows she does. But she pulls him to a halt anyway, making a show of taking him in with her gaze, eyes flitting across the whole of him. He’s incredibly handsome -- classically so, has always been -- but like this? Oh _man_.

It’s amazing what some grooming can do to make him appear a little more clean-cut -- a little more refined, a little more dangerous -- and it really, _really_ works for her. She crowds his space with a soft smile, shuffling forward to press her body against his as she winds her arms around his neck and her smile blooms into a grin, dimples winking to life and matching his. Her hands inch upwards, feeling the soft texture of his newly cut hair over her palms and fingertips.

“It’ll do, I suppose,” she says, but her voice comes out like a contented little sigh.

He chuckles at that, pulling her closer, hook heavy at her waist as his hand drifts up her back and his fingers tangle in the ends of her pony tail. “You’ll do as well, _I suppose_ ,” he teases back.

She lifts up onto her toes, leaning forward to bump her nose playfully against his. “We’re going to pick up breakfast at Granny’s,” she tells him. “And then we’re going to take the Jolly Roger out on the water.”

He hums, hook sliding through the belt loop of her jeans and hanging on. His hand pulls lightly on her hair, just enough pressure so that he can tip her face up to his. “That sounds delightful.”

“I’m gonna give you a massage,” she continues, murmuring it in the space between them -- matter-of-factly, bossy almost.

“Are you now?”

She nods, the corners of her mouth tilting up wide and happy as she leans forward to offer her mouth (or to chase after his). “Mmhmm.”

“I do love having your hands on me.”

This time she laughs, a breathless little sound. “Yeah, I thought you might like that.”

“And then what, Swan?” he wonders, eyes warm and smile soft.

Her hands slide higher into his hair, where it’s still long enough for her fingers to twist through. “And then we’re gonna test out this grip. Does that work for you?”

His eyes darken, pupils flaring wide, but instead of replying, his closes the remaining distance between them and crushes his mouth to hers. The kiss is urgent, demanding, _impatient_ and Emma grins against his lips, tugging sharply at his hair until he groans quietly. Her hands shift again as she breaks the kiss, fingers moving to pull playfully on the tops his little elf ears while she rests her forehead against his.

“It might be presumptuous, but I’d say that was a ‘yes.’”

In the end, it’s he who moves away from her, grabbing her hand and all but dragging her towards Granny’s. “You’re damn right it is.”

Her laughter follows after him, chiming and happy, as she quickens her pace to match his hurried ones.

_Fin_


End file.
